A handwritten note, scrawled in Arabic on a torn cigarette pack, was discovered on the ground last week in Pozzallo as migrants filed off a ship. It was from someone initialed “A” to someone else initialed “R.”
“I wanted to be with you,” read the note. “Don’t you dare forget me. I love you very much. My wish is for you not to forget me. Be well my love. A loves R. I love you.”
كلمات عربية مكتوبة بخط اليد على غلاف علبة سجائر ممزقة عُثر عليها بعد إنقاذ مركب لمهاجريين غير شرعيين لإيطاليا من أ لـ ر
I know many of you may be upset about not getting invited to a SS, especially if you live around the area Taylor is doing it at. I genuinely feel your pain because I’ve been there too! I’ve watched my friends meet Taylor countless amounts of times and as much as I wanted to be happy for them I was still jealous obviously (just never turned my jealousy into hatred) but…. I waited my turn. I was patient and I told myself that my time will come and if I spread happiness and kindness in the world it will come back to me. And guess what? I got a message from Taylor Nation during Taylor’s 1989 tour asking if I wanted to meet Taylor!
So a reminder that it is okay to be upset, I totally understand. But Taylor is doing the best she can to meet you. And if I dare read one of your posts saying “Taylor doesn’t want to meet me” OF COURSE SHE DOES! You’re a fan of hers and she appreciates you so much. She even told me when she met me she tries her hardest to find everyone, despite how busy she is. (come on she watches our livestreams when she’s in meetings!!!!)
Please don’t give up hope, this post was made to remind you to be patient and keep up your hope because Taylor will meet you one day and she’ll tell you how much she loves you and how much you love her, and good things come to those who wait.
I grew up surrounded by words, quite
literally. By the time I was six months old my parents had taped words
to every surface in the house, so the walls said “wall” the window said
“window” and so on so forth. I still don’t know how they managed to get
the cat involved but some things are meant to be wondered at.
But for the next six years the world was covered in words, as first I learned to read, and then my brother. I dare say if you move some furniture in my parents house to this day you will find a faded piece of paper that says “shelf” or “bookcase” on it. It was a sad day when they were taken down, they were like old friends. But by then the magic had already worked. I was able to look at the world and see words, whether they were printed there or not.
was four when I sat down to consciously write my first story. I remember
it vividly because I had my bright yellow Cadburys Caramel mug, that
had the purple flowing font on the side with the bunny rabbit lady
on it. It was filled with “baby tea”— mostly hot milk with a splash
of tea from the pot to give it color— and I was holding it in both hands, sitting at the
little “art” table dad had built for me in the corner so I had a place
to sit and scribble that wasn’t the walls. Contemplating my next masterpiece I looked around the room for inspiration. Would it be an exploration of color through pinky finger painting only? Or would it be the greatest macaroni interpretation of a dog we’d ever seen? Sadly we’ll never know how this might have worked out, as at that very moment, mum came in holding a crystal mobile and hung it up on the window sill. This in turn had the effect of creating a living, dancing rainbow in the living room, and something in my brain short fused.
That was the day I learned the word “iridescent”. It was like learning the language of angels.
After that I was always scribbling something. My school books were a mess of words, crammed into margins and on back pages. I was always in trouble for letting my mind “wander into whimsy.” Once I got a report card that said “fantastical leanings towards flights of fancy.” It was meant as criticism, but dad still has it framed in the office.
Then there came the time a few years later when I was reading the Hobbit with dad, and I turned to him quite seriously and asked “where are all the girl hobbits?” and dad hemmed and hawed before eventually telling me “they’re in another book, darling…having their own adventure…” and I accepted this and settled back down to let him finish the chapter. He probably thought I forgot about it until that weekend I marched up to the Librarian and asked for “the girl hobbit book please”, which was met with much confusion and my dad rushing over to tell me they probably wouldn’t have it yet because it was very rare. A few weeks later, dad handed me something. It was sheaves of paper bound together by string. It was, he told me, a very exclusive copy of the girl hobbit book.
I still have it somewhere, back home. Probably on a shelf somewhere that still says “shelf”.
And sweet, naive thing that I was, I believed him. It wasn’t until later on and someone else popped my bubble, that I realized dad, not Tolkien, had written it. And oh I was furious, furious because the story had been so good and because dad had lied about not writing it himself. But that small bubbling anger was nothing compared to the heat inside my brain when my dad confessed he’d tried without much success to find books I might like with girls in them. All the heroes were boys, you see. It made me quite tearful actually, that no one had ever thought that someone like me could go off on an adventure and save the world, when I knew it to be a blatant lie. Old Mrs McDougall across the street had been a land girl and saved a man shot down from his spitfire. Mrs Mitchell had been the emergency coordinator and saved people from burning buildings when the Nazis bombed the shipyards, and her skin was all bubbled and tightly pulled across the left side of her face because of it and her hands didn’t quite work because she’d gripped burning metal to try and free the men inside. Those, were heroes. But we never learned about them at school. We only learned about kings and tyrants and the kind of heavily filtered history that lead you to believe that women were in there somewhere, but only in the same sense that a wall has paint on it.
And now my books, my lovely wonderful books, where you could travel through space and time or climb up volcanoes to throw rings inside and save the world…those wonderful colorful worlds that spoke the language of angels, were just the same.
I was ready to cry and be defeated about it until dad, raising his eyebrows at me and offering me a notebook, said, “well, maybe someone ought to write one.”
And you likely know the rest by now. But in short I write because there are stories to be told. I write because it’s the closest I’ll ever be to how the word iridescent feels. I look at the world and I see words, dancing like rainbows, singing like angels.
There’s words everywhere. I’m just scribbling them down.
Not trying to be a piece of shit but imagine Leorio waking up in
the middle of the night, breaking in cold sweat because he had dreamt of his
childhood friend but this time he saw him with Kurapika. Kurapika who was
smiling softly at him, mouthing the words ‘thank you’ and slowly turning
his back to Leorio, and Leorio running to him yet at each step he took, the
distance between them only seemed to widen until Kurapika entirely disappeared,
leaving Leorio alone with his childhood friend. And then but guy told
him ‘You couldn’t save me, Leorio. What made you think you can save him?’
and Leorio knows that his friend will never tell him this but the realization
hit him that once again, at any moment, he might lose someone. Again.
And that can’t be. Because he was just a kid, then. He was just
a powerless kid when his friend needed him. (That’s what he tells himself, but
everyday he can’t help but blame himself because I could have done something. It was a curable disease I could have done
something.) But now he’s older.
Older with more experience with more money and with more power. He can’t let him die.
When he woke up the first thing he did is to get his phone and
dial Kurapika’s number, pacing around the room each second that Kurapika didn’t
answer because what if he’s too late, then
heaving a sigh of relief once Kurapika picked it up because he’s alive, he’s still alive. But what about tomorrow? The next day? The next?
And this thought is nagging on him.every.single.day.
Yes, I am 23 as some of you may know. & I have ZERO ISSUE showing my love for the twins. & I have no shame in stanning a pair of twins who are 5 years younger than me (I know they’re actually 6 years younger but they’re about to be 18 in a month so I’m saying 5!) Anyway… Some of you seem to know me as the blunt one who’s always saying these sexual things. But let me clarify that the things I say are all harmless humor. The comments I make are not to be taken seriously. I’m a sarcastic ass person, & I like to joke around. I don’t see the harm in that? But some people get so butthurt & just can’t seem to take things as a joke. & the fact that I even have to make this post justifying that is really fucking sad! It’s not like I’m on here saying go out & have underage sex! FAR FROM THAT! But I don’t see anything wrong with me saying “choke me” or saying how I would like Grayson to throw me against the wall & show me a good time. Let’s be fucking honest half the fandom talks about shit like that on a daily! I mean hell they made a whole video about dirty comments! So why is it so frowned upon? Is it because I’m 23?? Tell me tho, what’s the difference between me, a 23 year old saying it & a 12 year old saying it? & why is it okay for a 16 or 17 year old to say sexual things about them? Because they’re close in age with the twins? That’s all bullshit. & there are fans who don’t voice their opinions at all. There are fans who has these same sexual commentary, but instead of voicing it out like the most of us, they keep it to themselves or talk about it amongst their friends. To some of you it’s wrong when a person voices their sexual thoughts or opinions. But when another person has the same sexual thoughts or opinions but don’t voice it, it’s okay. Lol how hypocritical does that sound?!
Yes I think the twins are hot af, but is that the only reason I like them? NO! I love & adore them for so many other reasons. I admire them for so many things. I’m drawn to them for way more than their looks. Those two have helped me thru such a rough patch in my life. Starting this blog helped me create a fresh chapter. & I’m so grateful I did because god only knows where I would be if it wasn’t for the twins & this blog. I know that’s something I don’t talk about, & simply because I hate sounding or looking vulnerable. A few of my friends on here know & for now that’s how I want to keep it. Maybe one day I’ll be comfortable enough to share that story, but for now I would rather keep that to myself.
This blog is my escape from the real world. This blog is my safe haven. But how can I continue to enjoy it if lately everything I say or do gets looked at in a negative way? How can I continue to run a fan blog for 2 boys I love, admire, & support if people clearly think I don’t belong here because “I’m too old” This is suppose to be where I’m allowed to express myself & say what’s on my mind WITHOUT being judge. Obviously I can’t & I wouldn’t walk around in public & say “Omg did you Grayson’s new IG picture? Doesn’t he look so good? Like his arm veins makes me weak!” Like obviously I wouldn’t do that! That’s why we have this community. That’s why we have this fandom. So we can talk about those kind of things TOGETHER! Discuss it amongst each other! & I know that not everyone always share the same opinions. Not everyone expresses themselves the same. Some are more open, while others are more closed off. But that in no way means judge someone else because they’re personality isn’t like yours. It’s okay not to like someone or what they post. If you don’t like them or their post, just simply unfollow them, or them block them.
With that being said, I hope you guys get a better understanding. & maybe some of you would stop trying to age shame someone for loving & supporting the twins. Just cause I make sexual commentary doesn’t mean I don’t respect the boys. Just cause I the things I say doesn’t mean I only like them & I’m only here for their looks.
I know this is another long rant post, but as always thank you guys for listening… well reading actually lol. But also thank you to those who took the time to actually get to know me before judging me based on a few comments I’ve made. & thank you to those who understand me & my humor. I love y’all 💕
Before you guys start judging a person make sure you guys take the time to actually get to know them.
“This is Even, my bro. The part about him being my personal servant is kind of true though.” “Bro? Your bro?! What the fuck, Isak? We need to get rid of this whole hypermasculinity thing they teach you at Nissen.”
aka, Isak and Even are childhood friends. OR, the ChildhoodFriends!AU some of you asked for.
“Even was angry and Emma was tugging at Isak’s sleeve demanding attention. Even had never been angry at him before, not even when he spoke recklessly of his mother’s mental health, or when he threw up on the older boy’s bed that one night he got too drunk and couldn’t make it home.”
Or: Even still transfers to Nissen in his third year, but Isak and Even get introduced through their parents. FriendsToLovers AU in which Isak calls Even ‘bro’ a couple of times and is forced to watch old-ish movies with him in hipster movie theaters.
When I first started writing, I thought I’d post one chapter and stop. But look at me now. 430K words later haha.
Let’s face it, we bookworms tend to put a lot of pressure on ourselves, when it comes to our reading, because we’re weird like that, but in a good way. And, the truth is that reading should always be fun. Guilt free. ALL THE FUN SO MUCH OF THE FUN BECAUSE WORDS ON PAGES *insert screech* You know what I’m talking about. So I thought that compiling a list of the reasons that bookworms feel guilty and why they should just stop would be a great idea
1. Not reaching our Goodreads challenge/lowering our goal for the year
In the past few years, the Goodreads challenge has become a staple of measuring achievement when it comes to reading. It has become insanely popular and it’s honestly such a good tool to keep track of everything you’re reading. But it also adds an immense amount of pressure. I’ve been there. When December rolls around and you see that you’re to the Goodreads challenge what Pluto is to being a planet in the Solar System (a.k.a. not even close; also VIVA LA PLUTO because Pluto deserved better smh), the panic sets in. You’re left with two options: lowering your goal or not finishing the challenge. Both make you feel like crap. But honestly, life makes us feel like crap far too many times, thank you very much, so let’s not let reading add to the ever growing pile of crap, am I right?
There’s no reason to feel guilty. If you read one book that year, you’re still a bookworm and it’s still a HUGE achievement. It doesn’t matter if you didn’t reach your challenge. It’s just a stupid tracking tool on the internet, it’s not something to measure your worth as a reader or as a person. You’re still awesome, even if you read just a page. Even one page counts. We’re busy, school and work get in the way 99% of the times. Unexpected life events occur. Shit happens. It’s normal and it’s expected, because life is fun and all that jazz.
Also, may I suggest a great idea: set your goal to one book for the year. Boom! Pressure off. You’ll still be able to see what books you read, how many pages and all that jazz, with the bonus that you don’t feel like hyperventilating every time you open your Goodreads account
2. Not finishing books (the dreaded DNF)
Let me tell you something right off the bat: life is too short to waste on books that you’re not enjoying. Yes, I know, if you’re like me, you die a little on the inside every time you are at that point where you want to scream at the book you’re reading: BUT WHY ARE YOU NOT GOOD WHY IS THIS HAPPENING TO ME WHO DID I OFFEND IN A PREVIOUS LIFE FML FML. It’s a reality. But let’s face it: you’re not going to enjoy every single book you pick up. It’s just not written in the stars. Which is why it’s perfectly acceptable to just…stop reading it. Put it down. Hug a kitten. Contemplate the universe. Leave it be. Maybe pick it up at a later time, maybe not. But don’t feel guilty. You didn’t disappoint the book, yourself, the book gods or literature as a whole. It just wasn’t meant to be and you should never force yourself to read a book you’re not enjoying. In my case, every time I force myself to keep going with a book I’m not enjoying, I tent to end up in The-Thing-That-Should-Not-Be-Named a.k.a. the Book Slump™. Just…no.
3. Not reading classics
80% of the classics I’ve read have bored me to tears. I mean. I want me some dragons, magic and lost princesses. There are no such things in most classics (a huge oversight on the part of the writers, but I’m not pointing fingers). I’ve stumbled upon some that I really enjoyed, but too few to really make me actively pursue reading classics. The trouble is that a lot of people cringe so badly when you tell them that you don’t read classics.
“So yeah, I don’t really read or like classics” “OMG HOW DARE YOU I AM OFFENDED” “Um, I just..don’t really enjoy them/relate to the stories/want to live while I’m reading them” “BLASPHEMY. SACRILEGE. BEGONE HEATHEN. SHAAAAME”
Whenever people react like this, it puts me off reading classics even more, because I hate judgy people. But I digress. My point is, the amount of classics that you read or don’t read doesn’t indicate how “good” of a reader you are (fyi, there are no good or bad readers imo). It’s just indicative of the genres you enjoy reading. That is all. People who read classics aren’t THE BEST BOOKWORMS™. They’re just people. Like you.
4. Rereading books
I will shout this from the rooftops: I LOVE REREADING BOOKS. It’s something so refreshing and comfortable to go back to a book universe you fell in love with. To revisit favourite characters and go on adventures with them again. I reread at least a few books every year. Last year, I actively tried to reread at least one book each month. It was so much fun!
Rereading books can get you out of The Slump™. Rereading books is an excellent alternative for when you can’t afford to buy new books because stupid life costs money booooo. Rereading can be so insightful, because you notice so many things you missed on your first (or second, or third or…you get my drift) read. Rereading can be a whole new experience years after reading that book for the first time. Rereading a certain book can be the best for you at a certain time, because everything is familiar and safe. Rereading is absolutely no reason to feel guilty – people usually say they’re wasting time when they’re rereading (um, no), missing out on new releases (they’ll still be there a week later when you finish rereading your favourite book thank you very much), they fear not liking it as much the second time around (fine, I’ll give you this, it’s a possibility, BUT I ACCEPT THE CHALLENGE). Long story short: reread more books 2k17.
5. Neglecting books because life
We’re bookworms, yes. But we’re also People Who Need To Live and Function in Society. What does this mean? That we sometimes don’t have that much time to read (I know, it’s just so rude). Days may pass when we don’t read at all. Weeks. Sometimes months. Years? (all my college years were spent reading almost academic books exclusively; it was a dark time in my life). But that’s okay. There’s no reason to feel guilty for doing our best to live out lives. Doing that sometimes implies giving up certain things, because we simply don’t have the time or energy to do them. That doesn’t make us bad people or bad readers. Your books will still be waiting for you when you have the time to devote them your full attention. Books don’t judge.
Surprisingly or not, this is just part one. I have many feelings about this particular topic, because I really really want people to read books guilt free. And live the bookworm life to the fullest
I’d love to hear your thoughts on these points. And if there was ever a time you felt guilty for something book related
Request: Could you do a Bucky x reader where the avengers are playing truth or dare and the reader gets dared to give Bucky a lap dance since he’s never had one and the reader gets really embarrassed because she thinks he doesn’t like her since Bucky never really talks to her but he’s actually secretly in love with her?
Summary: Basically what the request its; you give Bucky a lap dance and you get embarrassed ;)
Warnings: Fluff and kinda angst ?
A/N: I love doing requests! Also, if I don’t get to yours right away it’s most likely because I’m busy with homework / I’m doing research for the request. I finished my homework for today so I have some free time hence why I’ve been basically bleeding these fanfictions. Enjoy!
I keep seeing on my dash hateful and ridiculous anon messages (probably all from the same fucking asshole) to @arachelyma .
If you follow me too anon just know that each artist has their own unique style. You don’t have to like it since you are human and that can just not be your taste. That’s understandable. But you don’t have to go off and legitimately bully and harass them because it doesn’t meet your standards or whatever the fuck. How dare you honestly?! Seeing their art is a privilege, really. Artists share their art with us for free and you should always be mindful of that fact. They try their best and share a bit of their imagination with us (which takes a lot of confidence) and you dare step on that?
If you’re miserable with your own life don’t fucking take it out on others. Respect artists guys. Compliment their work, especially young ones that are still growing their technique. And Araceli, I love your art very much. Your style is so adorable and always lifts my spirits and your coloring is OUTSTANDING. Like I aspire to color like you one day. Don’t listen to that low self-esteemed moron. You’re awesome. Your art is awesome. And I hope you have a wonderful day.